


Ramen, RedBull and Spite

by BrassHeart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 'Supervillain' Clarke, F/F, Humour, Med Student Clarke, Superhero Lexa, fratboy!clarke, mentions of turf wars and gunwounds, superhero/supervillan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrassHeart/pseuds/BrassHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke really needs to become a surgeon and will do just about anything to achieve her goal. Even if it means becoming a temporary supervillain for some extra credit. But the superhero is cute so that's a big plus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ramen, RedBull and Spite

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a tumblr prompt: 'a grad student becomes a supervillain for extra credit since their entire doctoral committee is lowkey three of the city's supervillain. They meet the hero who is cute and charming and idealistic, and damn, extra credit is so not worth this. but damn, extra credit is so not worth this. But damn, grad school is expensive and the job market is competitive.  
>  “there's _good_ in you.”  
>  “i really think all that's in me at this point is ramen, red bull and spite.”'
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

When Clarke Griffin got into AU medical school, she was delighted – more than delighted, she was over the _fucking_ moon. It was the school her parents met and where they both got their doctorates in medicine and engineering, and she was _itching_ to start.

It was her dream since she was a little girl to follow in her mother's footsteps and become a surgeon, to save lives and mend what was broken. But hell, she didn't sign up for this shit.

Clarke was a popular girl, always has been, no questions asked. Blonde and blue eyed, gorgeous and charismatic enough to rob you in the middle of the day, Clarke Griffin was born lucky. And admittedly, although she would never confess, it got a little bit to her head after years of unfettered attention from boys and girls and teachers alike.

She basked in the attention wilfully and gladly.

Clarke went most of the parties she was invited to, took anyone who mildly caught her eye to bed, and schmoozed her teachers in high school and college into doing her bidding time and after again. She knew she could get away with drinking on weekdays (as any good college student did), with never calling back, and with handing her papers in late. She still got into med school so there really wasn't any fault in her logic.

Clarke thought she could carry on like she always did when she came to AU but, boy, was she wrong. One semester in and she maybe, _maybe_ , she really needed some extra credit for the second semester like right now, or she might implode, or fail, or both.

Taking extra credit wasn't all bad, nearly everyone she knew too it in some way. Hell, her best friend, Raven – a _freaking_ genius – took extra credit. Clarke certainly didn't mind, it just meant she'd have to stick to the books more than ever and she liked learning more about saving lives. But. What was _bad_ was that her doctoral committee's bright idea for her to _earn_ that extra credit was for her to rob a bank.

Well, they didn't use that exact phrasing, nor did they actually mean a bank but a museum, but the meaning behind Cage's words was unmistakable. They didn't back down or rephrase it when Clarke questioned them. Cage's smirk was enough of a confirmation that even though said in jest, he meant it. Oh he meant it.

She just thought they would point her out to some classes or would advise her to speak to her professors about giving her some extra papers, or hell, send her to a homeless shelter to help out. She didn't know what people did for extra credit, but they definitely didn't rob museums at their committee's behest.

That's when it clicked with Clarke: her doctoral committee – Dr Tsing, Cage Wallace and Alie – weren't who they said they were, at least who they said they were wasn't all that was to them. No, there was more to the trio than met the eye: they were the rats that crawled the roofs at night, the ones who battled with the good and selfless for their own agenda of power and control. She had no doubt about that, and she was definitely still not drunk from last night.

They were the Jokers to Batman, and Magnetos to the X-Men. They were the bloody supervillains the city didn't want but was stuck with until the heroes battled them. Her committee's faces were basically splattered across social media, Twitter, Facebook and all that shebang.

How did she never see it? They didn't even bother to cover up their faces all that well if she had to be honest.

She rubbed her temple, chasing two pills with RedBull in hopes of calming the tempest behind her eyes. She poked her fork into her noodles and leaned back against the wall. When exactly did she get stuck in the Marvel universe?

Fan- _fucking-_ tastic. How in the blue moon did she end up with the three biggest baddies in the _entire_ damn city as her doctoral committee. Like, how does that happen on a regular Wednesday morning. She thought her hangover was the worst part of most mornings, but no, _this_ took the cherry. It was only the first week back too.

The groan that ripped from her throat granted her a few raised brows.

Clarke couldn't tell her friends either. She didn't even know how to start that conversation: ' _Hey guys you know my doctoral committee? Well turns out their names aren't actually Lorelei, Cage and Alie, but RadiDoc, Cerberus, and NucliGirl. I know right! I'm just as surprised as you guys! Who would've thought! Let's get shots!_ ' As if that would ever happen. Well, apart from the last part. She really needed a shot right about now, and it was only 10 am.

Her friends would just recommend less drink and eating something other than ramen for once. They'd say she probably just knocked her head against the wall. They probably just think she was finally cracking from the _necessary_ pressure she put herself under.

But no.

She didn't give herself brain damage and she was doing just fine with the way things were.

Except she had to rob a museum.

And her committee were the three biggest supervillains in town.

...How the _fuck_ was she going to rob a museum before next week's meeting.

Maybe it was time to get off Twitter and do some proper research.  
  


///    
  


She did it.

She actually _fucking_ did it.

She snatched the Monet from it's display right under the security's nose. Yeah, okay, she was nearly caught because the colours were really pretty and the paintstrokes were sublime (her inner artist gasped when Clarke laid her eyes on the piece), but she _actually_ pulled it off.

Clarke plucked another long-neck from the cardboard box on the kitchen counter, popped the cap with her lighter and adjusted her snapback. She couldn't believe it. An actual, _genuine_ Monet sat wrapped up in brown paper under her bed in her shared apartment.

Clarke Griffin just robbed a museum, and better than that, she was so going to get her extra credit. Her shiteating grin earned her a confused look off a brown haired girl on the sofa, squished between Lincoln and Bellamy, but Clarke was in a too good of a mood to pay the young woman any heed. Even if she was gorgeous. She allowed herself to get dragged into a game of beer pong and let her elation carry her throughout the night.

Oh she couldn't _wait_ to see Cage's face.

Her elation from the night carried into the morning, even though her head was pounding like someone was drilling into it, mostly because she actually _did_ bump her head last night, she had an uncharacteristic skip in her step. Everything was going to be okay. Clarke rubbed the sore spot with a pout which earned her a laugh from her bleary eyed and equally hungover, probably still drunk, roommate, Octavia. She'd need some ibuprofen for that.

She carefully tossed the painting into her carrier bag and took off towards Dr Tsing's office with a cup of ramen in one hand, RedBull in another and two painkillers in her stomach. She was so going to become a doctor, even if she had to temporarily become a supervillain to do it. It was worth it in the end.

She smoothed her features into more muted glee once the brown door came into view, discretely sniffed her shirt (she really needed to do her laundry) and fixed her favourite snapback on the crown of gold.

Clarke didn't even let Cage get his usual snide greeting in, he enjoyed those 9 am mid-week meetings less than Clarke, and slid the paper covered frame across the table. Dr Tsing moved her eyes from whatever paperwork she was filing to eye the _present_ with a curious but cautious eye.

Clarke slumped into the seat across from the desk and keenly watched their expressions. Dr Tsing pushed the edge of the upturned corner with her pen to reveal a hint of the masterpiece hidden behind the paper and then tossed the paper back altogether so they could all see the fruit of Clarke's work.

A veil of silence fell over the room.

They all wore the same expressions of polite dumbfounded shock, like they couldn't believe Clarke would actually, you know, _rob a Monet_. They clearly had _no idea_ just how much she needed to pass. Of how desperate she was and how deeply she _needed_ to become the surgeon.

The painting was probably worth more than enough to cover her tuition for the next five years and then some, but hell she _needed_ that extra credit more than a good lay or cash. And she really needed a good lay. And cash. She was living off ramen for pete's sake, she needed money.

Simultaneously, three pairs of eyes locked onto Clarke, and if she was anyone but her over-bearing, cocky self she would've squirmed in her seat from the dark joy in their eyes. Instead, her trademark grin from last night returned and she flicked the cap of her snapback.

“So about my extra credit.”  
  


///   
  


That's how it started.

She got them what they asked for and they gave her extra credit. She still spend every waking moment, which wasn't spend drinking, boning or planning the next con, in the library, but it was mostly worth it.

It was a good set up, Clarke reasoned. They gave her a cut of the profits and within few weeks of working for the doctoral committee slash supervillain syndicate not only did Clarke pay off the rest her tuition, her student loans and any other debts she had, but could also afford a better disguise. The first one she made herself from any throwaway rags, and really needle work wasn't Clarke's forte. She stabbed herself more times than she cared to count the first Wednesday afternoon.

She grew in notoriety as SkyGirl, not enough to trend on Twitter all that often or for the police to even be all that interested (she supposed that was Cage's handiwork) or anything nearly as exciting, but enough for a certain _individual_ to keep a close eye on Clarke.

The Commander. Another one of the entities that trended on Twitter nearly non-stop. The cat to the rats and the selfless and good for the sake of it.

Her face looked familiar to Clarke but no matter how hard the blonde tried she couldn't place the sombre green eyes and high cheekbones on any of the face she knew. Maybe she saw her in the library. That'd be something that could only happen to Clarke.

It seemed that wherever Clarke went, the Commander was there, and she had to run from the raccoon lookalike _every damn week_. She would've been more annoyed if the Commander wasn't so cute, but, alas, she was a sucker for pretty girls. Even if said girls were chasing her across roofs and streets and trying to come between Clarke and her dream.

Clarke knew the streets of DC like the back of her hand, having grown up in the city, but knowing and not able to do much with it wasn't exactly a good thing. Clarke _knowing_ when to take the turn that would loose her pursuer until next week didn't mean they couldn't catch up to her. It was during the run on the last job that Commander not only caught up with Clarke but also stopped her. The other woman was faster than Clarke, even after the blonde took up track, and later boxing, on top of all her studies and partying.

Even with all the gadgets and weapons Clarke bought, she couldn't stop the inevitable, and she cursed herself out for not buying something more reliable, like a jetpack or an army of thugs.

The second Clarke felt warm fingers wrapping around her elbow and pulling her to a skidding stop, which nearly made her fall back against the Commander's shoulder, she twisted on heel to face the music. The Commander looked like she wanted to say something but before she could produce a sound (or Clarke could get lost in her eyes – honestly how could someone's eyes be so _green_ ), Clarke delivered a strong upper hook to Commander's jaw – courtesy of Lincoln's training.

The punch threw the Commander off and she released the hold she had on Clarke's arm to nurse her swelling jaw. Clarke nearly hollerred in joy but instead she passed the Commander a lopsided grin and dashed across the roof and onto the street below. The Commander didn't chase her across the last few blocks, and Clarke couldn't understand why the heavy feeling in her gut felt too akin to disappointment. Her frown was thunderous all the way back to the apartment.

The payout for that job was definitely worth the Commander nearly catching her. But Clarke didn't mind it all that much, the Commander was easy on the eyes and she was nearly _enjoying_ their little game of cat and mouse. It was a dangerous line to be walking, especially when she knew the brunette could very easily catch her and hand her over to the authorities.

Clarke had the strangest feeling that even if her counter-part did catch her, she wouldn't give her up. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Clarke didn't think much of it when the same girl that eyed her strangely at a party weeks before came into the frat house sporting a dark bruise on her jaw in the shape of Clarke's fist. Nah man, a hot girl was about to take a body shot off her and Clarke didn't see the piercing green eyes observing her like a hawk throughout the night, red solo cup lightly loose in her hand and body lodged between Jasper's and Monty's.

Clarke did, however, notice that it was the same girl whom sat diagonally from her most days in the library since the start of first semester. She was all messy brown hair thrown hastily into a bun, the late sun giving her a halo on most evenings, sharp eyes behind large glasses, and plump lips biting her pen while her eyebrows scrunched lightly in concentration.

Clarke sometimes pretended that _that_ was the girl that chased her across rooftops on Sunday nights. A girl could dream right?

The cat and mouse game continued and it became Clarke's favourite thing about Sunday nights. Sure, she liked the money and not failing med school, but she was entirely too endeared by the sometimes silent, dark figure of the Commander _waiting_ for her after she once again pulled off a heist.

The week after the Punch, as Clarke liked to call it, the Commander actually spoke to her. Clarke barely heard her over the dim of the street below them but Commander's smooth voice reached her ears despite all odds. It was like melted chocolate with just the right amount of huskiness, and with her smirk lacing it, Clarke couldn't help but swoon.

“You know, there's _good_ in you,” the Commander leaned on the half-wall casually, arms crossed over her chest, green eyes glinting with amusement like she too found the situation all too endearing. The dark bruise still smartened on her sharp jawline, slowly fading from dark blue to a more ugly yellow that truly did not suit her chiselled features.

“Pretty sure all that's in me at this point is ramen, RedBull and spite,” Clarke tossed back while adjusting the strap of her gym bag, stuffed to the brim with diamonds. Those diamonds weren't nearly as bright as the Commander's dastardly smirk still firmly attached to those full lips. That smile was going to stick with Clarke, she knew that already.

The Commander blinked once, then twice, and then _honest to God_ chuckled. It was Clarke's new favourite sound. Clarke's grin only widened and she spun on her heel away from the Commander and towards freedom, arm ready to throw a smoke grenade which she knew wouldn't stop the brunette. God, she wanted to stay and make the Commander laugh until her sides hurt. She knew the other girl would follow her, even with the white smoke rising up, she didn't seem like the type forgo their tradition for the sake of a chat.

“You know, witch hazel works wonders on bruises,” the Commander didn't even pretend that night she didn't enjoy their Sunday chase. Her laugh illuminating the night with their easy banter as they raced across the rooftops of the concrete jungle.

Clarke felt like she was flying for the first time in too long when she finally hoped off the roof and headed for the area where she knew the Commander wouldn't follow.  
  


 ///  
  


She learned why the Commander didn't follow her down that street a few weeks later. Really she was lucky it didn't happen earlier in her not-so-much career as a wannabe supervillain. Clarke supposed it was bound to happen when she was essentially running the rooftops with knick knacks more expensive than her kidneys for some extra credit, well extra credit amongst other things.

So maybe she was crushing on her murderously attractive counter-part, sue her.

Turf wars were officially Clarke's second least favourite thing, only beaten by being shot. Oh god she was shot.

She gripped her arm with one hand and tore her t-shirt with the other, or tried to, her good arm was kinda busy. Well, she supposed not many doctors ever got to practice treating a gun wound on themselves, so that was a plus. The only other plus was that the bullet only grazed her arm and she could still use it through the pain.

She'd leave her self-treatment out of her CV though, lying in a dingy alley in DC's downtown covered in her own blood while a turf war was happening around the block wasn't exactly her proudest moment, and she did once wake up covered in her own vomit. Pretty sure she was currently sitting in some too. What she wouldn't give for some pain meds right about now.

But now wasn't the time to hold up a nearby pharmacy, the police sirens were closing in on the turf war and the last thing she wanted was to caught with a sizeable amount of arms in her bag. She could wave goodbye to becoming a surgeon if she was caught, so she did what she did best – she took to the rooftops and ran. The roofs felt colder without the Commander chasing her, or maybe it was the blood loss getting to her.

Clarke trudged to her apartment that night after changing into her 'civilian' clothes behind a dumpster. For the first time in _months_ , Clarke started regretting taking on a double-identity. Sleep came heavily that night and her dreams were filled with green eyes shining in both parts amusement and worry, and bullets flying all too close.  
  


///  
  


The brunette at the library was nagging Clarke. She wasn't doing anything out of norm, she was still sitting in her usual spot looking ethereal, but she kept glancing at Clarke with quick worried eyes. The bruise on her face, somewhat hidden under makeup, begged for Clarke's attention, and the smell of witch hazel made her nose sting.

It couldn't possibility be...

In all honesty, Clarke's doctoral committee was made up supervillains and they made her commit heists and see through nefarious and more than morally ambiguous plots for extra credit. Nothing could surprise her at this point. Not even the Commander attending her uni. Or being the girl she's been crushing on for the entire semester. It really was something that could only happen to Clarke.

The brunette must've felt Clarke's eyes on her, trying to mentally place the faces of the two women onto each other to find similarities (boy, there were so many, not a sliver of doubt was left in Clarke's mind), because she looked up and locked eyes with Clarke. She passed her the same smirk from the rooftop and then packed up her shit and left.

_Huh?_

Clarke had to blink a couple of times to clear the study and painkillers induced fog that took over her mind whenever she opened her heavy and ludicrously expensive textbooks, or was, you know, _shot_ like couple of days before.

It looked to her like the brunette literally just vanished, but a quick turn around which nearly snapped her neck, had Clarke's eyes zoning in on the retreating figure of the brunette. Hips swaying and long legs bringing her closer towards the sun spilling into the foyer, taunting Clarke with its warmth and promise of life.

Without a second thought, Clarke pushed her chair back and ran towards the brunette, ignoring the librarians' angry whisper-shouts of 'no running' and the disapproving stares of just about everyone else. She was a woman on a mission and she would damn well get what she wanted: her, the mysterious brunette, the Commander.

Clarke reached the brunette just as she set her foot through the glass entrance. Sunlight momentarily blinded Clarke and she shot her good arm out searchingly.

She grabbed the brunette's elbow, halting her and pulling the woman towards her, her fingers tingled from where they grasped the brunette's flesh. The woman swilled around to face Clarke. Wide doe eyes stared down at her and Clarke forgot how to breathe for a second, the artist inside her committed the perfect sight to memory – sunlight spilling through the brunette's hair, giving her a halo, and light catching in those soulful eyes. Monet had nothing on the beauty in front of Clarke.

An immaculate eyebrow shot up into brunette's hairline in an unspoken question. Clarke had to swallow carefully to get moisture back into her mouth.

Clarke was pretty sure words didn't actually come out her, they were naught but a mumble of noise and sounds that _could_ be mistaken for English if you squinted really hard. Probably because she still hadn't picked her jaw up from where it hit the ground.

“I know I said the only things in me are ramen, RedBull and spite, but do you think we could get some people food?”

The brunette _laughed_ and Clarke's insides melted. With her signature grin making a home on her features, she stuck her hand out to the brunette, other hand reluctantly leaving it's perch on the brunette's arm. She didn't fuck it up yet and with the way the brunette was looking at her, well, Clarke wanted her counter-part to look at her like that all the time.

“I'm Clarke.”

The brunette had a twinkle in her eye when she finally shook Clarke's hand (Clarke swore she never felt warmer) and answered her with a soft smile, like she was suddenly shy at being caught out.

“I'm Lexa. We can get lunch if you tell me how you managed pull off last week.”

It was Clarke's turn to bark out a laugh this time, “Why? So you'll be able to _actually_ catch me?”

Lexa shook her head nearly fondly, telling Clarke what she knew since the Punch and before then – Lexa could've caught her weeks ago but she chose not to. Clarke wasn't the only one who enjoyed their Sunday rendezvous.

“No, because it _impressed_ me,” her eyes told Clarke it was the gospel truth, but the raw honesty in Lexa's voice brought a rosy blush to Clarke's cheeks. Both of their smiles turned more intimate, something both tactile and transcendent, and Clarke nodded her head in consent.

“Let me just get my stuff. I know a great place,” she was dashing back inside the building before the last syllable left her lips. Her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. She couldn't find it in her to care about the near murderous daggers many sent her way as she was gathering her many, _many_ books rather noisily.

“Is it a ramen place?” Lexa's voice took on a joking note when Clarke came out of the library two minutes later. Clarke couldn't fight the full-bellied laugh that seemed to explode from somewhere deep inside. She shook her head no and bumped Lexa with her hip.

They left the library with their pinkies intertwined, shoulders and hips bumping and grins brighter than the spring sun.

The Sunday night chase ended on a Tuesday morning and both were glad it ended with them at the other's side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it or have any thoughts let me know by commenting, leaving kudos or the like!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://www.monsters-running-wild.tumblr.com)


End file.
